


Tell Me About The Moon

by cryptzoix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco in Denial, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Internalized Homophobia, Love Letters, M/M, Oblivious Harry, Secret Relationship, basically call me by your name and pride and prejiduce mixed but its drarry, death eater draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23998804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptzoix/pseuds/cryptzoix
Summary: Draco likes to talk about the moon. Harry likes to listen.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in their sixth year, kinda follows the movie but I moved some things around and obviously added plenty of my own twists.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So normally this would be like 4 chapters but i decided to make just one super long prologue and then I'll start posting shorter chapters,,, but here's this for now

_Even in the gross, worn and cracked mirror of the second floor girl's lavatory, Draco can still make out the details of the dark snake curling up on his pale wrist, accompanied by the skull, the sickening skull that seems to smile at him now as the blonde stares at the mark._

_"You're a monster." It seems to say, a hoarse whisper in the back of his mind. "Just like your father. Just like your dark lord."_

_He swallows thickly, continuing to stare at the very grave, very permanent impression on his skin until he can't anymore and pulls his robe sleeve down quickly. Draco shakes his head a few times, leaning down and gripping the underside of the sink._

_"I'm not." Draco whispers, his voice cracking with threatening sobs._

On nights like these, where Draco's wrist feels like its burning red under his sleeve and his head fills with dark thoughts (not the kind his father would approve of, but the kind that make Draco feel like jumping into the lake would be his best option right about now), the blonde would opt to sneak out from his common room dormitory and up the stairs until he can pop open a window and climb out onto the roof.

He likes to just sit there, to feel the night air pass by him occasionally and stare out into the forest, or up at the stars. Sometimes he finds the constellations that he learns about in his astrology class. Sometimes he strives to see the man in the moon everyone is always rambling about. And sometimes, he just looks. He doesn't think, doesn't worry about school or his family or the dark mark that makes him feel like a disgrace -

 _He just looks_.

Draco walks the stairs from the abandoned girls lavatory and all the way up and almost into the old oracle room, but he stops halfway up the tower and pushes open the window by the stairs, and he steps over the window ledge, planting his feet down onto the roof, one after the other, and closes the window after him.

" _Lumos_." Draco whispers, and uses the light from his wand to guide him somewhere a little more comfortable and spacious. He takes a seat, looking down at his polished shoes, tapping them against each other lightly.

It's less cold today, the air feels almost warm, and Draco lets the soft breeze flitter under his robe sleeves. He lets himself lean back against the shingles that never give out under him, he lets himself finally relax.

The stars are nice tonight.

If you could see the sky Draco was looking up at, see it in its peaceful beauty, and then find a way to describe it, in a way that put the sight to justice, you would be doing much better than Draco.

He found himself just staring, his eyes drifting to every corner his vision allowed him. He never described the sky to anyone anyways, there wasn't anyone who would listen. But he always could remember it the next morning, enough that he could even look at the morning sky and point out where the moon had been, or where he saw what constellations. He wouldn't be able to describe the stars on this night.

There weren't any constellations in this sky. Not that Draco was looking for them. It was like a very detailed painting, not the kind where the placement of stars is determined by a splattering brush, but where every star is planned and placed accordingly, one by one by one until the galaxy that could engulf Draco in it's ethereal beauty was finally finished.

Every star had a meaning, a past. Well, not really, but Draco liked to think that. He refused to believe anything Professor Trelawney rambled about, but every once and a while he considered what she had to say about the stars.

Maybe it was when she told Draco he had energy similar to that of a lunar eclipse. Maybe it was when the only thing he could see in his tea leaves was a moon and stars. Maybe it was when she had talked about shooting stars meaning good luck. The evening after that lesson, Draco had watched a golden flash fly past his window, and then he had found a letter, sealed with golden wax, hiding in his potions book.

 _The letters_.

Draco had been getting them for maybe a month now, every couple days. He ignored the first one for an entire week, because he thought maybe it was a prank someone was pulling on him.

But after watching an especially beautiful asteroid shower, and having no-one he could talk to about the experience, Draco sat in his bed with a quill and a small bottle of green ink. He wrote pages and pages about the asteroids and the sky and how much he loved them. He finished the letter off by telling the anonymous reader/writer that he was sorry for going on for so long about such a stupid thing.

 _'I know this is boring you, but I likely won't be writing again so you don't have to worry about a monologue on the moon coming your way anytime soon.'_ He had written, and then signed it with a long, cursive M.

The letter he wrote sat in his drawer for another few days, and Draco considered tossing it into the fire on several occasions, but he was up late one night and figured that there wasn't a lot that could go wrong by sending the letter.

He wasn't really "sending" it, as he didn't really have any idea who to send it to. But the letter had told Draco that the writer thought he needed someone to talk to, and if he did, Draco could leave a letter in the room of requirement.

Draco had walked up the the seventh floor at 2 in the morning, his letter folded up in his robe pocket.

In order to get into the room, you had to walk by where the entrance would be three times and think about what you needed it for. Draco felt a little stupid as he paced back and forth, but tried his best to concentrate.

 _I need someone to talk to_. He thought, and the door appeared easily. Draco smiles, walking inside. The room had shrunk considerably, barely bigger than a closet. There was a small chest on the floor, and Draco kneeled down, twisting the lock. The chest opened with a quiet click, and was completely empty inside, lined with a soft velvet.

Draco pulled the letter out from his pocket. It was creased over in many places, and the ink had bled in some places, but Draco knew if he tried to write it again he would never finish and it would end up in the fire.

He dropped the letter into the chest and closed it, before he stepped back and closed the door before he could change his mind.

A few days later, another envelope had appeared in the pages of Draco's potion book. Draco waited until he was alone on his bed to rip the envelope open, quickly unfolding the paper. He was a little disappointed in how little writing was on the page.

 _Don't worry, Draco._ It started.

Draco hated that the writer of these letter knew who Draco was, and Draco had no idea who they were. It felt very unfair. He continued reading.

_I don't get bored of your writing at all. I think it's interesting, and I think you see and notice things that I never did before. Don't ignore this letter. Write to me again. Tell me about the moon._

\-----

  
" _Malfoy. Malfoyyy... Malfoy, you twat, wake up."_

Draco sits up abruptly as he feels a sharp pinch against his arm. Goyle is sitting at his right, Blaise at his left, and Pansy is sitting in front of him. They're all in the grass, but Draco is the only one laying down.

"You fell asleep." Blaise states in his dull voice. Draco rubs his eyes.  
"Thanks, I had no idea." He quips.  
Pansy frowns. "Did you sleep enough last night?"  
"Of course I slept enough, I'm not an idiot."

Draco was, in fact, an idiot. He had stayed up the entire night before staring at the night sky and writing his weekly letter to his anonymous... friend? Penpal? Stalker? Draco didn't know who to call the receiver of his letters, he just knew it was a nice way for him to express his love of the night sky with someone. And that was all that mattered.

Last night's letter marked the 6 month anniversary of the first letter Draco received. But he didn't want to call it an anniversary, it sounded too couple-y. But, considering they had been writing back and forth to Draco for half a year now, Draco had enclosed a beaded bracelet in his envelope before creeping up to the room of requirement.

Back to Draco's current situation, which was sitting in the grass with his less than average posse. The bracelet wasn't really a sweet gift, it was more of a means of finding out who was reading his letters. But it was lunch now, and Draco had seen zero little beaded bracelets, at least not like the one he sent. He also had yet to see Harry, considering the group had gathered just so they could catch Harry on his way to Hagrid's.

"I don't think he's coming today, Draco..." Pansy mumbles, and Draco glares at her.  
"Don't be stupid, he comes every day." He hisses. Pansy sighs gently and points over at the school. Draco follows her finger to see Ginny Weasley (that brat!) standing before Harry, who's trapped between her and the wall. She's smiling sweetly and playing with her long red hair, and Harry is laughing nervously, looking around for a way to escape.  
Draco sneers. "Can she not see how uninterested he is??"  
"It's not our problem." Goyle shrugs. "Just let her keep bugging him." He takes a loud, obnoxious bite from the apple in his hand.

Draco stands, brushing grass off his robe. He strides over to Ginny and Harry.  
"You two enjoying your date?" Draco questions, staring at Ginny expectantly. The girl turns red, or redder, Draco supposes. The entire Weasley family has red faces.  
"Oh- I was just- He-" Ginny stammers, and Draco waves her away.  
"Yeah, I don't give a shit. _Scram_."

Ginny blinks, taken aback. She hurries away, and Draco staggers as Harry shoves his shoulder.  
"Don't talk to her like that." He sneers. Draco sneers right back.  
"You wanted her gone, did you not?"  
"Yeah, but I could have handled it myself."  
Draco laughs. "No, you absolutely couldn't have. You're too worried about being nice, Potter. You have to be the bad guy sometimes." He knocks his palm against Harry's chest, and the brunettes hand flies up to grab his wrist.  
"And it seems like you need to be the bad guy all the time." He spits.

Draco feels something cold graze his wrist, and glances down to see a bracelet of wooden beads. The same kind Draco put in the letter. "Where'd you get that?" He questions, nodding towards the bracelet.  
Harry lets go of the blondes wrist. "Ehm... Hogsmeade." He responds quickly.

 _Damn_. That's where Draco bought it. Not that he cares, of course. It would be rather upsetting to see the same bracelet Draco bought for whoever he was exchanging letters with on Harry Potter's tanned wrist. "Oh. Nevermind, than. Enjoy your date with the Weasley girl."  
Harry scoffs, pushing past Draco and walking through the courtyard, no doubt towards Hagrid's.

When Draco looks back towards his posse, they're absorbed in laughing obnoxiously as a group of first years trip over each other, spilling their books. Draco rolls his eyes, scoffing distastefully. He turns sharply on his heels and walks into the school.

It's cooler inside the building, Draco was starting to sweat in his dark robes, and it certainly didn't help that his father had started making Draco wear suits. He tugs now on his shirt collar, trying to cool off a bit. Harry always managed to make him feel warm and bothered, he figured the brunette was just that annoying he could make Draco steam from the ears.

When Draco starts down the stairs to the Slytherin common room in the dungeon, he can finally relax, feeling like he is just as safe here, enclosed in the cold stone walls, than he is on his nights on the roof. And he does feel safe on the roof. Safer than he does anywhere else, at least. Safer than he does at home.

When Draco sees a letter on his bed in the Slytherin dorms, he lights up for a minute, walking closer and expecting the soft gold wax seal on all his secret letters. His excitement quickly fades when Draco sees the black wax seal instead, stamped with the same design that burns into Draco's wrist.

He picks the letter up, sitting down on the foot of his bed and opening it.

His father's writing is much neater than the letters from his secret writer, but it carries a sinister feeling in its long swoops and tall lines, while the short and blocky scrawl on the letters hidden under Draco's bed carry a feeling of warm familiar safety. Draco couldn't tell you why.

 _Draco_.

 _Me_ _and_ _your_ _mother are requiring you to come home early this year for spring break. You'll be catching the 7:30 train tomorrow morning and will be expected to come home safely. Your ticket is paid for. Do not disregard this letter, your presence is of utmost importance._

With a sigh, Draco sets the letter besides him on the bed.

-

Draco had spoke to McGonagall before leaving that morning to let him know he would be leaving school early that week, and she had kindly walked him to the train station while the rest of the school was having breakfast. Of course, Draco didn't appreciate her presence, he would have very much preferred walking to the station alone.

But McGonagall ends up taking her leave a good ways from the station, and lets the blonde enjoy the rest of his walk alone. Draco pulls his coat tighter across his body, and flips his hood up over his hair.

The train leaves exactly at 7:30, and Draco came close seconds to missing it, grabbing onto the steel railing just as the train rolled awake and started down the tracks.

When he's settled in an empty train cart, the blonde loses his coat and drapes it over the back of the leather booth he's sat in.

"It's too early for this." He mumbles, sinking his arms down and crossed over the table, dropping his head between them. He can hear the mechanics of the train, can hear the wheels rolling over the train tracks below his feet.

It's honestly not that early, Draco has woken before the sun some days to practice spells or plot his evil plan of how he'll inconvenience Potter that day, but it takes a lot more to prepare Draco for a family gathering.

He can't imagine what his parents have planned, there wasn't anything he could think of that would require him home this soon before his winter break.

Draco is interrupted from his thoughts when the train car door slides open, and he simply continues sitting with his head in his arms. Draco figures that whoever is passing by will do just that: Pass by. And leave him alone.

They don't.

In fact, Draco feels someone's presence as they sit opposite him in the booth. He rolls his eyes, looking up from his arms.

"Is this the only seat available, or-" Draco stops, frozen mid-sentence.

Harry Potter is sitting across from him, his annoyingly blue eyes watching Draco from behind his ridiculous wire glasses.

Draco sits up abruptly, fixing his posture.

"What are you doing here?" He demands.

Potter only shrugs. "I like the train." He responds. "And I have no classes today before lunch."

"What?" Draco furrows his brows. He likes the train? Nobody _likes_ the train, it's stuffy and loud and makes your back hurt.

"I like the train." Potter repeats. "It takes my mind of things. You know, like how some people have sports, or bird watching... or star gazing." Draco could swear the bastard gave Draco a look just then, one that was challenging Draco. Like he knew something.

Draco tenses. "Yes, I'm familiar with the concept, Potter. What do you need to take your mind off of? I thought your life was all sunshine and rainbows."

"Oh, yeah." The brunette nods, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's wonderful. I've not a care in the world, never mind Voldemort's return and all that."

"Forget I asked." Draco sits back in his seat, crossing his arms before his chest and staring out the window, ignoring Potter before him. He hates it when Potter says You-Know-Whos name like its nothing, like he's not afraid of him. Nobody isn't afraid of him. Not even Harry-freaking-Potter.

He bites back a triumphant smile when Potter is the first to speak up again.

"What about you, than? What are you doing on the train this early? And with luggage... sure hope you're not leaving school early."

"You wish, Potter." Draco spits, still staring out the window. "I'm visiting family. Urgent events."

"Oh?" Potter tips his head to the side. "Is that so? Got to welcome back the dark lord, I suppose. You having a dinner party or inviting him to brunch?"

Draco sneers, his throat burning. "I suggest you shut up, Potter."

"You've got your dark mark, too, right?" The twat continues. "What was that like?"

_"No, please! I cant- I cant do it-!"_

"Sunshine and rainbows." Draco responds. He moves his arms barely so his sleeve covers his wrist. Potter smiles, entertained with the fact that Draco was hiding his arm.

_"It hurts, stop! Stop! You're hurting me!"_

"I bet." Potter tips his head again, no doubt trying to see Draco's eyes, watching for a reaction. He gets one.

Draco stands suddenly, slamming his hands down on the table between them, leaning forward so his eyes are aligned with Potter's and their faces are mere inches apart.

"I don't care if you're 'The-Boy-Who-Lived.' To me, you're just a twat with too much heart and not enough brain. Stay away from me, Potter."

"I could tell you the exact same thing. You've been stalking me all week."

_"Untie me! I don't want this! I don't want it-!"_

_"Stay away from me- you're hurting me-"_

Draco sneers again. "I'm not kidding around, Potter. Stay away from me."

"Awe, are you worried you'll hurt me?" Potter hums, leaning forward gently as he speaks. Draco pushes his shoulders back against the booth. Draco hates this. He hates their proximity, how Harry is inches away from him and seems completely unphased. He didn't even flinch, and only smiled gently when he saw Draco's eyes running with thoughts. Like he knew exactly what he was thinking.

" _Stay away from me!_ " Draco snaps, pushing on Potter's shoulders back against the seat still, to the point of nearly dislocating them.

Draco blinks, coming to, and he sits back slowly, watching the brunette before him. His legs are shaking beneath him, and Draco has to grip his arms to keep them from shaking, too. Potter looks unphased. Always unphased.

The-Boy-Who-Lived watches Draco for another moment, before standing and leaving the train cart without another word.

Narcissa and her husband, Lucius Malfoy, are waiting for Draco at the train station. Narcissa's lean arms are crossed before her chest, watching the train doors expectantly.

When Draco steps out onto the platform, she beams, hurrying over to hug her son. Draco returns the smile, lingering a moment longer in his mother's embrace.

But it's not long before Draco feels Lucius' hand firm on his shoulder.

"I'm glad you made it, Draco."

 _Not like I had a choice._ Draco thinks to himself. He only nods.

And when they get home, Draco spends the rest of his morning and afternoon at Malfoy Manor, indulging in plenty of food and getting a small nap before he's being woken up again by his mother that evening.

Draco sits up tiredly, rubbing his eyes. "Yes?" He asks Narcissa, who only hands Draco his coat.

"Come on, dear. You've got somewhere to be."

Draco grumbles, casting aside his comforter. He never even bothered to change into more comfortable clothes before he fell asleep, he was just so exhausted. And Harry Potter on the train certainly didn't help.

Narcissa doesn't come along, but Lucius grabs Draco's arm and apparates himself and his son to an empty alleyway somewhere. Draco swallows, gathering his composure after the violent trip there. After another minute of walking with his father, Draco realizes he's walking down Knockturn Alley.

With this new information, Draco walks a little closer to his father, staring straight forward and avoiding any eyes of the witches and wizards they pass.

There' a few people waiting patiently at the door to Burgin and Burke's, and they welcome Lucius and his son with small smiles.

Draco shakes hands with a few people who he doesn't know and likely won't remember, and then is led across the room to a large bookshelf in the back.

"What do you think of this, son?" Lucius questions, gesturing towards the wardrobe.

Draco, confused, runs his hand gently over the dark wood. "It's... nice. I suppose." He opens it, and glances over as one of the men he was introduced to earlier shuts the blinds sharply. Draco closes the wardrobe gently, looking to his father for an explanation.

"This is a Vanishing Cabinet. It, in simple words, teleports whatever and whoever is inside it to it's duplicate. Do you know where the duplicate is, Draco?"

Draco shakes his head slowly. "No, sir." He has a bad idea as to where it might be.

"The duplicate is in Hogwarts."

Draco swallows. He listens to his father to further evaluate.

"After your reaction to receiving your dark mark, some of the death eaters had their doubts to your strength and reliance. This, however, is the perfect way for you to regain the respect that you lost."

"And... how will I do that?" He feels the entire room's eyes on him. There's even a jar of eyes on a shelf in the corner that's watching him.

"The Vanishing Cabinet hasn't been used in a long time, and it's not ready for what we need it for. Not yet." Lucius walks up behind Draco, dropping his hand on his son's shoulder. "We need you to start repairing it, my boy. You'll start with small things, like jewelry, or food. And eventually living things, until we're confident it can be used safely."

"Used safely... for what?"

There's a pause. "We're sending Bellatrix and a few other death eaters to Hogwarts. You know Bellatrix, don't you?"

Draco nods. He knew Bellatrix, all right. She'd started the trend of death eaters burning cigarettes and wands against Draco's arm where his dark mark was to be. Since he was six. Draco supposes they were getting him ready for when he would receive his dark mark. He also supposes nothing could have prepared him.

It didn't work the way they planned, anyways. There was a time when Bellatrix was told to stop, that Draco was needed in best condition. She did, as the other death eaters, but Draco had grown used to the feeling, and not having the marks on his arm felt unfamiliar and uncomforting.

When Draco's sleeve was rolled up on his sixteenth and he was about to receive his mark, nobody questioned why his arm was still marked. Bellatrix made an unbreakable vow, and no one else would dare to go against Lucius' word. They knew who had continued the trend. Nobody said anything. Not before he received his mark, and the conversation never rose afterwards, either. Draco was more than thankful, he didn't need to have that conversation with his father.

"Why are they coming to Hogwarts?" Draco asks. Lucius frowns gently, obviously growing annoyed from Draco's questions. He answers him anyways.

"They're coming to Hogwarts because you're going to kill Dumbledore, Draco. And I need them there to make sure you get it done _right_."

-

Draco wakes up the next morning to find his mother packing his clothes into a suitcase.

"What..." He sits up in his bed abruptly. "What are you doing?"

Narcissa sighs. "Your father has a... a trip planned for you. You're spending the rest of your break somewhere else, dear."

Her son swallows, knitting his brows together. "Why?" Had he upset him somehow? Was it Draco's hesitance to help the death eaters into Hogwarts?

"He has something else planned for you. Another death eater related job."

Draco sighs heavily. "Where is he sending me?"

Narcissa hesitates. "The burrow. With the Weasleys and Harry Potter."

The blonde boy instinctively scrunches his nose in disgust. "Why would I go _there_?"

"Because Bellatrix has something planned. I don't think it's exactly a good plan, but your father has decided to agree."

She folds another shirt into his luggage and zips the bag closed. Draco finds himself stammering to speak.

"W- how- do they know that I'm going? The Weasleys? And Potter?"

Narcissa nods. "Yes, they've been told. All they know is that we're unable to keep you here during the break, and we would like you to enjoy the warm weather somewhere... warm. The Weasleys actually live in quite a nice area, I think you would enjoy the landscape."

Draco scrunches his nose again. _Landscape_? He doesn't give a damn about landscape, he thought he would be spending his spring break at _home_. Not with the Weasleys, and especially not with Potter.

"I don't want to." He mumbles, quite childishly. "I want to be here, at home."

His mother sighs again. "I know, dear. But it's your fathers orders. This will be good for you, I'm sure."

"Good for me?" Draco scoffs. "Merlin, It's anything but-"

"Draco." Narcissa's voice is stern. "You're _going_."

He huffs, pushing his comforters aside and stepping out his bed. "Fine. Let me get dressed."

Narcissa nods, standing up slowly and leave Draco's room. As soon as she's gone, he angrily tosses his wand across the room, and it hits the wall with an unsatisfying clatter.

He comes downstairs 20 minutes later, fully dressed and his suitcase in his hands. "I wish I had gotten some warning." He frowns at his father, who returns the distasteful expression.

"I knew you'd be just as rotten about it as you are now. I'd rather deal with a few hours of you than a few days."

Narcissa gives her husband a saddened glare, who ignores it.

"You'll be taking the train." Lucius continues, handing Draco a written map with directions scribbled on the side in his long cursive. "The Weasley's live in a tall house, but its rather shabby... of course. You'll need to take the path from the train station for a quarter mile or so."

Draco huffs, looking over the map. Lucius speaks up again.

"I want you to write every night. Learn as much about Harry Potter as you can. The dark lord would appreciate it."

The blonde boy looks down at his feet at the mention of the dark lord. Of that _monster_.

Draco thinks briefly that _he's a monster, too, now._

His wrist seems to flare up at the thought, and Draco looks back up at his parents. He nods slowly _._

"Alright, I'll do it."

Lucius smiles, pleased.

"Good."

He steps forward, holding Draco's forearm. Draco's stomach lurches forward as they apparate, and he sways on his feet, a little disoriented when they find themselves at the train station. Nobody seems to notice that Draco and his father had appeared in thin air.

Draco's hand is forced open, and he looks over to see the beige ticket in his palm.

He remembers Harry, how he _liked_ the train.

He remembers how he mentioned stair-gazing.

It felt like he knew.

"Draco?" Lucius squints, staring at his son. Draco looks up quickly.

"Yes?"

"Your train. It leaves soon?"

Draco nods, closing his fist around the ticket. "Yes. Right. Of course. I'll write."

"You'd better." Is all Lucius says, and sends Draco off.

-

The train is obnoxiously loud, and rattles in Draco's skull. He finds himself burying his face in his arms again, like he did on the train he took home from Hogwarts.

He finds himself thinking -no, wishing- that he'd look up and Harry would be sitting across from him.

Draco looks up abruptly, unsure why that thought crossed his mind. The train cart is rather full of people, it's a busy hour. He sinks down slowly again, staring wide eyed at the table, ignoring the blush that turns his face red.

 _Why was he thinking that_? He hates Potter, and he certainly doesn't want him sitting around on this bloody train with Draco. 

But he doesn't get to think about it long, because the train slows to a stop. Draco looks out to see the lousiest train station he's ever seen. 

It's not even a train station, for Merlin's sake. It's just a strip of concrete in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Draco steps off the train, looking around. It's just dry. Tall, dry grass. Somewhere in the far distance, if Draco squints, he can make out some trees, but that's all there is.

He sighs, leaning against his luggage and pulling his map from his pocket, trying to figure out where it is he's going.

The sun beats down on Draco, and he tugs on his shirt collar, reaching up to unbutton the top of his shirt, which had been practically strangling him the whole ride here.

Draco looks up, staring down the dirt path. He sighs, stuffing the map back in his pocket and shifting his luggage to his other hand, before starting down the path, the suitcase wheeling behind him. 


	2. Summer Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> k so i rewrite chapters 2 and 3 cause i hated them, put em together here, and then added a little idk if you read the chapters before they were edited lemme know if you liked those more or if you like the edited version ^^

“Malfoy! Malfooyyyyyy!”

Draco squinted down the trail when he heard a voice calling his surname, only to see someone coming down the trail on a red bike. They’re waving, steering the bike with only one hand, and Draco can see how disheveled their hair is, and how their glasses are tipped slightly to the side. 

“Potter.” He whispered in response, though he knows Harry can’t hear him. As Harry came closer, Draco was confused to see that Harry was grinning,  _ genuinely grinning _ . As if he was happy to see him. But that couldn't be, they were enemies. Draco was being forced to stay here. He came to realize that Harry was simply putting up an act so Draco didn't hex him while he was at the Weasley’s. Yes, that was it.

The bike screeches to a sharp stop next to Draco, and dirt flies up, dusting the ends of his pants. He scowls, leaning slightly to dust them off with the back of his hand. This attempt does nothing, and Draco only manages to smear the dirt into the cream fabric. Harry laughs above him, and Draco looks up abruptly. 

“What’s so funny?” He snaps, and Harry shakes his head, still laughing.

“I just can’t believe you’re wearing dress pants. You understand how hot it is?” It  _ was _ hot. Even the grass seemed to be sweating, and Draco had been spelling himself silly the whole time he had been walking because he was sweating like a pig under the country sun. Draco was already beginning to be grateful he didn't live so far out of town. 

Draco looks down, frowning. “They’re not dress pants, Potter. I wouldn't sully my best clothes at the Weasley residence. You just don't understand fashion, I suppose.” He looks back up too see what Harry was wearing. Denim shorts that ended at his knees and were terribly frayed, and a simple cotton t-shirt. He noticed a flour stain on the hem, and held back a sigh, figuring he had likely been baking with the Weasleys. Draco had never baked or cooked a day in his life. It was a dumb,  _ boring _ task. 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Merlin, you’re so professional all the time. Try to not bring down the mood while you’re here. Hop on.” He sits up a bit, patting the leather seat. It was more duct tape than leather, actually. Draco took a moment to take in just how worn the bike was. It was a miracle it hadn't fallen to pieces just getting here. 

“What is this?” Draco asks, disdain across his face. He gestures widely to the contraption Harry was sitting on. 

Harry’s eyes grow wide, almost comically wide under the thick lenses of his glasses. “Don’t tell me you’ve never ridden a bike before, Malfoy.”

“Of course I’ve ridden a bike.” The blonde spits. “Just… never one so ancient.” 

“Relax.” A laugh bubbles up from Harry’s lips after Draco’s comment, but it leaves as quickly and suddenly as it arrived. Draco was rather shocked that Harry had  _ giggled _ , and even further shocked when he looked back up at Harry too see that his ears had reddened, and a faint blush was fading slowly from his face. “She’s got another few years to her, I bet.” Harry mumbles, patting the seat again. There would be barely enough room for Draco, did Harry really expect him to get on? Draco shakes his head. 

“No way am I getting on that thing. We’ll fall! I’ll get dirt all over me.” He says, crossing his arms across his chest. He  _ already _ had dirt all over him. It was taking a lot of Draco’s willpower to keep from pouting over his dirt-stained pants. He made a mental note too find a way to get back at Harry for what he had done to his trousers. 

Harry gives him a look, peering through his glasses at Draco, and as the sun continues beaming down at them, it seems to shine not against his glasses, but against Harry’s eyes, like they were real emeralds. Like Harry was a great treasure, an artifact, even. Sometimes Draco really felt that way, like Harry was nonpareil. But he supposed the entire wizarding world thought that.

But it wasn't really the same. They saw Harry as fragile, like a set of fine china. Draco found himself thinking of diamonds. 

“Adamas.” Draco mumbles. Harry’s brows furrow. 

“Uhm…” He laughs again, this time it's longer, but awkward and forced. “What’d you say?”

“Adamas.” Draco says again, still staring at Harry’s eyes without really realizing it. “It’s Greek. It means ‘unconquerable.’” He’s quiet for a short moment. “‘Diamond’ comes from the word adamas.”

Harry’s laugh picks back up again, and it feels a little more genuine this time. “Why on earth did that come into your mind?” He asks, shaking his head with a smile. 

Draco realizes exactly how weird he had been in that moment, and shrugs quickly, looking down to hide the embarrassed blush on his face. “It’s important to study whenever you can. I’d recommend you learn Greek, but I doubt you would be able to grasp the concept.”

Harry rolls his eyes.“You’d rather walk the whole way?” He gestures at the seat again, clearly done questioning Draco about his strange, greek interruption.

Draco is quiet for a long moment, then slowly shakes his head. “No, I wouldn’t.” He steps forward, dropping his bag into the large basket that was likely spelled to the bike, he didn't see any binds securing the large woven basket to the back of the bike. Still, it didn’t budge in the least when Draco dropped his luggage, and that was good enough for him.. Taking a sharp breath, he climbs onto the bike behind Harry, but is rather surprised when he sits down to realize that the seat is plenty big for both of them. Another magic quirk of the bike, he supposed, and decided to not worry about the logic. Instead he just gripped onto the underside of the bike seat with both hands. 

Harry glances back, his eyes flicking down to Draco’s hands, and Draco swears he sees a flash of disappointment cross the face of the boy-who-lived. 

“You’re sure to fall off if you do that. Here, put your hands around my waist.” Harry says, and reaches back to take Draco’s hand in his own and lifts it around so it's pressed against his stomach. Draco reddens, and pulls his hand back swiftly once Harry lets go.

“I’m sure I’ll manage, Potter.”

“Suit yourself.”

Harry pedals forward on the trail, and Draco falls off within seconds. 

Doubled over laughing, Harry can’t even be bothered to help Draco up as he clutches at his stomach, gasping for air through laughter. Draco brushes dirt off himself, scowling and loudly cursing at Harry, who’s still practically cackling.

“I told you you’d fall!” He exclaims, finally getting off the bike and letting it fall to the ground before holding out a hand to help Draco up. Draco doesn't take the hand, obviously, and gets up on his own, still grimacing. 

“Maybe if you knew how to ride a bike that wouldn't have happened!” He snaps, and wipes the back of his hand over his forehead, leaving a smear or dirt above his eyes. Harry points to his forehead, and Draco silently spells himself clean with his wand. All the visible dirt evaporates into nothing. 

“Can you just swallow your pride and not try holding the seat this time?” Harry asks, rolling his eyes and lifting the bike back up. 

On the second attempt, Draco actually does reach his arms past Harry’s waist and links his fingers together. He leaves his palms open, and presses said palms against Harry’s stomach so he doesn't have to press his chest against the boy's back and has a bit of his own personal space. When Harry starts the bike again and they head down the trail, Draco can feel the muscles in Harry’s abdomen flex and relax as Harry pedals the bike forward. The skin on his arms pricks up with goosebumps. 

The bike hits a bump, and Draco falls forward, his chest pressing flush against Harry’s back. Exactly what he did not want. 

“You idiot!” Draco exclaims, bit it isn't really an exclamation, he really only needs to mumble the curse for Harry to hear it. “Look at the path!”

“Sorry…” Harry laughs gently. He had been expecting Draco to pull away again, but he never did. 

Draco stayed there, even tightened his arms a bit. If he closed his eyes, and really focused, Draco could feel his heartbeat syncing with Harry’s. Both pulses were fast. Harry’s had reason to be, he was powering the bike. Draco, however, did not have a good reason for his pulse to be racing like it was. He could only hope Harry didn't notice. 

They continue for a while, and Draco takes a moment to enjoy the warm air breezing past his face, and closes his eyes again to truly embrace the feeling. He can almost smell the summer, it feels, as a sweet aroma joins the air. 

Turns out, he wasn't imagining the fragrance, as he opened his eyes to see that Harry had taken a turn and was heading down a large path right in front of the Weasley’s. Maybe he could have walked, it took them barely any time to get here. Or maybe he had just spaced out for longer than it felt like.

Nearly every window of the house was open, but the kitchen window had thin wisps of steam curling out and dissipating into the summer air, and Draco could squint and see that there was a row of cups across the windowsill, all steeping with tea and honey. Exactly 12. Draco tried doing a mental count of all the freckle-faced children in the family, but couldn't quite think of them all.

The bike stopped slowly, and Draco got off as quickly as he could. He looked around a bit as Harry walked the bike over to lean it against the side of the house, and noticed a bountiful garden a short walk from the house. Even further, he could see a small orchard with less than a dozen trees. 

There was a water pump by the side of the house, which Harry pushed the lever on a few times to fill a bowl sitting at the bottom of the basin, and proceeded to splash water over his face and hands. Draco found himself wondering if he had traveled back in time. He walks over and squats in front of Harry at the water pump. 

“Why on earth do you have a water pump?” Draco questions, staring at the historic appliance. A chicken wanders over too Draco, and he waves it away, looking around for where on earth it came from until he notices the chicken coop beside the garden.

Harry grabs a washcloth that was sitting atop the neck of the pump, and vigorously rubs his face dry. “It’s really not that special.” He says, pulling his glasses back on and standing up. Draco stands with him. “Same as a hose, really. The house has running water, it’s just easier to stop out here. Plus, it’s good to have it on hand because sometimes the pipes inside get messed up and we can't get any water. There’s a lake past the orchard-” Harry points towards the small bundle of trees past the garden. “-but it's a real hassle to walk back and forth when you need water.”

“Can’t you just use magic?” Draco asks, and Harry shrugs. 

“Sure we could, but the Weasleys like teaching their kids responsibility. Whenever Arthur and Molly aren't home we use magic for  _ everything _ .”

Draco laughs at this, and looks again towards the trees. “How far is the lake?”

Harry shrugs again. “Not  _ that _ far… far enough to be an inconvenience when you're holding a gallon of water on your back.”

“You do that?” Draco asks, gasping. Harry laughs heartily. 

“Sure, I’ve done it a few times. But that was when the Weasleys were having a really cold winter and all the pipes froze up real bad.”

“You must really care about them to do that…” The blonde boy mumbles. 

“Sure I do. They’re my family.” 

Draco wants to question that, he wants to ask if Harry actually  _ does _ have any family around, but decides to keep quiet. 

“We should head inside.” Harry says after a moment, and Draco nods. He follows Harry as he walks around the house and up the steps to the door. Harry opens the creaky door so Draco can walk in before him.

Walking inside the Weasley’s, Draco is at a loss of words. 

There's magic everywhere. While Draco had been under the impression that the Weasleys didn't use magic for household chores, they used magic for seemingly everything else. 

The fireplace burning in the corner danced with rough shapes of dragons and changed colors often. Draco supposed magic had also been used in order to have the fire burning without turning the house into a furnace in the summer weather. 

There was a glass figurine resembling one of the chickens outside that stood atop the fireplace, stirring occasionally. Draco didn't see the point of this animated decoration, but he supposed it came in handy somehow.

Adding to the list of magical items, there was a large clock hanging on the wall opposite Draco. Instead of regular numbers and regular clock hands, there was a collection of different locations painted along the clock (home, school, garden, market, ect), and there were 11 small clock hands all featuring a picture of a different Weasley member. Harry and Hermoine also had their pictures printed on one of the clock hands. 

Every hand except for Harry’s and Hermoine’s was pointed at ‘town’.. Harry’s was home, obviously, and Hermoine’s was under ‘transit’. 

Harry also noticed the clock, and laughed gently. “I guess the entire family went to pick Hermoine up from the station.”

The oven beeped loudly, and Draco looked over towards the kitchen, expecting Harry to walk over and take whatever was inside out, but the oven door opened on it's own. A pie floated out, landing softly on the counter. Draco looks over at Harry again to see if he was holding his wand. He wasn’t. 

“Did you do that??” Draco asks, pointing at the steaming pie. Harry shook his head. 

“No. It just takes care of the food itself. Let’s bring your luggage in.” He pulled a wooden chair over from the incredibly long dining table to prop the door open and walk back outside. 

Even with the fire running, the house was cooler than outside, and Draco hurried with Harry to get his bag and suitcase back inside because he couldn't stand to be out in the humid air. 

“Where am I sleeping?” Draco asks, panting slightly as he hauls his bag up the stairs. Harry follows behind, carrying Draco’s suitcase with ease. 

“Second room on the 3rd floor.” Harry says, pointing up. Draco groaned, switching his bag to his other arm and continuing his trek up the stairs that creaked and moaned under his feet.

When they finally reach Draco’s room, Draco drops his bag on the twin bed pressed against the wall with a loud huff. Harry follows shortly after, wheeling the suitcase behind him. 

“What are you smiling for?” Draco asks. He had tossed himself on the bed just as dramatically as he had tossed his bag, and was now lifting himself up on his elbows and panting slightly. 

“Nothing.” Harry says, shaking his head and still smiling. “You’re just… I figured you’d be more in shape.”

Draco gasps in shock at this. “I  _ am _ in shape! I’ve just never hauled a carry on bag up 3 flights of stairs, is all. You carried my entire suitcase, how are you not  _ dying _ ?”

Harry laughs again. “I’m just in shape, is all.”

“You’re the fucking chosen one, is what you are. I don't think anything could hurt you.” Draco mumbles with a pout, watching Harry roll the leather suitcase over to the open and empty wardrobe next to the twin bed. 

“Oh, that's not true.” Harry responds. He kneels down and unzips the bag, lifting the neatly folded and pressed clothes and sliding them into the drawers. Draco doesn't interrupt at first, he was thankful to have Harry unpacking for him, but after Harry lifts up a stack of linen tops and reveals a stack of letters tied carefully together with a string of yarn, he lunges forward and snaps the luggage shut. 

“What are you doing?! Stop digging through my stuff!” Draco exclaims, pulling the suitcase towards him protectively. 

“I wasn't!” Harry says, holding his hands up in defense. “I was helping you out, why didn't you just stop me when I started?”

“I wasn't paying attention.” Draco lies. His eyes are thin slits as he stares daggers at Harry. “I can get unpacked on my own, thank you very much.”

Harry stares at him for a moment, before scoffing and standing up. “Alright, fine. Suit yourself. I’m going to take a nap.”

Draco looks up at this. “A nap?” He questions, and Harry nods with a sigh. 

“Yes, Malfoy, a nap. Is that alright with you?” He asks in a mocking tone. Draco reaches into the pocket of his trousers to grab his wand before spelling the door slammed shut with a loud bang. He hears Harry sigh again from the other side, and then hears his footsteps as he descends down the stairs. 

Draco starts unpacking the rest of his things. 

All of the letters found their way under the wardrobe and wrapped tightly in a spare pillowcase he had brought in case the Weasleys didn't have decent bedding. They did, so Draco wrapped the letters up in the fabric and slid it in the dark space under the wardrobe.

After everything had been unpacked, Draco dug around in the drawers of the small desk in his room and found parchment paper and pen. He wrote out his first letter to his parents, which was brief and did not contain anything that Draco figured would be of interest to his father. He wrote the letter only because he was not eager to have a howler come the next morning too angrily remind Draco that he needed to be  _ regularly writing _ . 

He didn't even need to whistle or search for one of the owls in the house, by the time Draco had finished sealing his letter to his father a soft hoot came from his window, and when Draco turned around he saw that a large white owl was perched on his windowsill. 

Laughing gently, Draco gestured the bird over, and it fluttered through the small room and landed on the desk. 

“You’re awfully smart, aren't you?” Draco knew this was Harry’s bird, but an owl was an owl, and this one seemed particularly sharp. He gave her a few small scratches under the owls chin, and Hedwig closed her eyes slightly and practically purred. Draco watched her fondly for a moment. 

“I wonder… if you’re so smart… can you deliver another letter for me? One I don't know the address for?”

Hedwig stared at Draco for a while, and Draco quickly realized what a stupid question it was, but then the bird  _ nodded _ .

This could have just been, and very likely was, a simple bird mannerism that didn't have any real meaning. But Draco was hopeful, so he interpreted the nod as a yes, and pulled another piece of parchment from the drawers, then dipped his pen in ink once more. He didn't bother addressing the letter, as he had no idea who it was who was receiving the letters he wrote.

_ I am trapped in the most wretched place for the next week. My room is small, and the entire house creaks and smells overwhelmingly of cinnamon and ginger. But I'm in the country, which means that there will be no air pollution. Which means I’ll be able to see the stars better than anything at night. That’s the only thing I’m looking forward to. Walking outside tonight and laying in the grass and seeing the stars at their best. Well, not their absolute best. I suppose I would need a telescope to see that, but I quite like the feeling of laying down and looking up at the sky on it's own. It feels like I’m wrapped in those constellations that I love so much. The only reason I would get a telescope is to see the planets. And only rarely can you really see a few. There's also a lake a walk away. I haven't seen it, but i’m interested to know if the stars and the moon reflect on the water. That would really be something, wouldn't it? The galaxy above and the galaxy below. I’m thinking of jumping in the water, of feeling for that split second that I had dived into space, that I would be swimming with the stars. I don't know why I’m so drawn to the night sky. I really don't. I’ve seen it every night of my life. 5,840 nights. And yet every time I see it, it blows my breath away. You asked for these ramblings, so don't complain when I actually do ramble. If you actually do get this letter, you’ll probably be wondering how it reached you, considering I don't know your name or address. You can thank the very smart owl who is currently keeping me company in this very empty house. _

Draco folds the letter up, seals it, and hands it over to Hedwig. “I trust you, Missy. Get these letters in the right hands.”

The bird nods again, taking both letters in one scaly hand, and flies back out the window. Draco doesn't bother looking what direction she heads in, he just puts all of the stationary on the small desk back in the drawers. 

Ten or fifteen minutes later, Draco’s door flies open. 

“Merlin, Potter! Learn to knock!” Draco exclaims. He had been sitting on his bed with a book when Harry had so abruptly interrupted him. 

“Sorry.” Harry says, and Draco notices that he’s blushing a bit. “Uhm… let's go for a swim.”

“Right now?” Draco asks, and Harry shakes his head. 

“No, tonight. When it's dark.”

“Are you going to kill me and leave my body in the river, Potter?”

Harry didn't laugh at this. “No. It's just… the lake is really pretty at night. Because of the stars.”

Draco looks up at this, and nods slowly. “Okay… I’ll get ready after dinner, then.”

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” Harry says, and turns around swiftly, walking back downstairs. Draco didn't see it, but a small letter was in the back pocket of his jeans.


End file.
